


All I Want for Christmas (Is the Next Installment of Swords and Shields)

by Sidonie



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidonie/pseuds/Sidonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas-y modern AU rewriting of the bit with Varric and Cass and the book. You know the one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want for Christmas (Is the Next Installment of Swords and Shields)

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of dialogue is taken verbatim from the game, as this is basically a reworking of a canon scene. Written as a present for my friend Caitlin, who helped create this college AU, introduced me to Dragon Age in the first place (for which I am exceedingly grateful) and who has been in Varric/Cass hell for over a month. Merry Christmas, darling.

It was Christmas Eve, and Varric was starting to feel a bit annoyed. Neatly wrapped presents were lined up across his desk, each labelled and beribboned. He knew, having chosen them himself, that they were each perfect—personal, thoughtful, and guaranteed to bring a smile to the face of the recipient. He was _great_ at Christmas.

Except, it seemed, when it came to Cassandra Pentaghast. He stared at the empty space where hers should have been sitting, his fingers drumming restlessly against the polished wood of the desk. A mug of tea sat ignored beside him, slowly cooling. Sighing, Varric rubbed his temples, once again turning everything he knew about her over in his head, waiting for inspiration. At its root, he knew the problem was a conflict of values—Cassandra was brutally practical, sure to dislike anything she couldn’t put to use, while Varric was of the firm opinion that strictly practical gifts were _boring_ , not to mention lazy on the part of the giver. Anyone could buy a vacuum cleaner or, god forbid, dishcloths. He’d contemplated briefly the idea of something to encourage her writing, since they’d spent so many late nights workshopping her (painfully stiff, but thoroughly researched) essays over the course of fall term, but gifts related to self-improvement were always tricky, easily misunderstood as condescending. Leaning back in his chair, he looked back toward Hawke’s side of the room. As he expected, she was curled up on her bed with Sebastian, watching a movie on her laptop. Or rather, he was watching the movie, focused and earnest as always—she was watching him, her intent gaze promising a host of temptations for the lad should he try to go back to his own room for the night. Smiling, Varric reached for his coat. He’d have to seek help elsewhere.

Although it was still just late afternoon, it was dark outside, the lights along the campus sidewalks illuminating the snowflakes drifting down from a black sky. He tugged his scarf tighter around his neck, muttering a few uncharitable words about the temperature. Kirkwall had its faults, but at least it was _warm_.

As he had somewhat expected, he came upon Sera first. She was standing in the middle of the quad, a massive pile of snowballs beside her, with an expression promising mischief. Across the open space, someone large and bearded enough they could only be Blackwall was busily building a fort, presumably as defense. Varric walked up beside her, picking a snowball from the pile.

“He doesn’t have a chance, does he?”

She laughed brightly. “Gonna regret challenging me, he is. What’s up, Varric?”

He shrugged, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Not much.” It was surprisingly hard to admit defeat. “Just—if you were going to get Cassandra a present, what would it be?”

Sera pulled a face. “Something boring, I guess. She likes that stuff. Socks, or undies, or anything else you get from relatives who don’t know you, yeah?”

“That’s what I thought. Thanks anyways.” He lobbed the snowball in an easy arc, landing it close enough to Blackwall’s fort to draw Sera’s attention away—given half a chance, she’d target him as well, he knew.

Once he’d made good his escape, he headed for the house Leliana and Josephine rented. It was a popular gathering spot for their friend group, and as it was about 5:30, he knew Cassandra would be in the dining hall, eating dinner at the same time she always did.

Upon entering, he was greeted with a blast of sound—Christmas music, played at full volume, mingling with the constant hum of conversation. The living room was nearly full, and in the kitchen Josie and Cole were baking something that smelled like it would send him into a sugar coma. At the center of everything was Dorian, loudly regaling the crowd with a story involving nudity and tinsel. Varric also spotted Bull, red-faced with laughter, pulling Adaar onto his lap; Solas, lounging elegantly on the couch next to Viv, whose ramrod-straight posture was belied by the easy smile on her face; Leliana, having a quiet conversation with Lace; and Krem, playing cards with Cullen, who had clearly had a bit too much to drink.

He made his way into the kitchen, snagging a cookie off the tray Josie was holding before she could protest. She glared at him and he gave her a winning smile.

“How’s it going, Ruffles?”

More dexterously than he would have expected, she plucked the cookie from his fingers, placing it back on the tray. “I would be better if people could refrain from sampling everything. They will be ready when they’re ready!”

“Alright, alright. And you, kid?” Varric asked, nodding at Cole.

Cole beamed, still stirring some sort of batter. “People like it when we bake!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “They sure do.” The kid was weird, but you wouldn’t find a sweeter person anywhere, and he’d taken to the group’s holiday enthusiasm like a duck to water. Varric didn’t know much about what Cole’s home life had been like before coming to college, but he had a small, sad suspicion that he’d never had a proper Christmas before, or any other winter holiday for that matter. It was nice to help correct that.

Leaning against the countertop, he ran a hand absently through his hair, which he’d forgotten to pull back in his customary ponytail. “Hey, Josie, you’re good at people.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So are you, Varric.”

“Yeah, well … I need some advice anyway. What would you get Cassandra for Christmas?”

Josie gave him a sharp, considering look. “Stuck, huh?”

He grimaced. “You could say that.”

“Hm. Well, I got her some of those Nevarran pastries she misses so much.”

“How on earth did you manage _that_?”

Josie grinned. “One of the cafeteria chefs is Nevarran. He didn’t take too much convincing.”

“You know, Ruffles, sometimes you scare me a little.”

“I have to concur.” That was Solas, who had entered the kitchen almost silently, despite the pinkness in his usually pale cheeks indicating that the drink in his hand was more liquor than mixer. Varric congratulated himself on not jumping out of his skin.

Solas reached out with his free hand, scooping a fingerful of dough from Cole’s bowl in one smooth, languid motion. “What are we talking about?”

Varric opened his mouth to say it was nothing, but Cole’s nearly compulsive honesty betrayed him. “He’s trying to get Cassandra a present, only he’s afraid she wouldn’t like anything he could give, wouldn’t like him for giving it.”

“I never said that!”

Cole shrugged. “Said, not said. It’s what you were thinking.” Crossing his arms, Varric frowned at the kid, pretending not to notice as Josie and Solas struggled to suppress laughter.

“You could get her a book,” Solas suggested. “Nevarran military history, perhaps?”

“Hate to break it to you, Chuckles, but for everyone in the world besides you, that’s a deadly boring present.”

“Suit yourself.” Turning to head back to the living room, Solas paused. “You might ask Adaar, though. She and Cassandra are quite close.”

It was a good suggestion, and a few minutes later Varric bid farewell to Josie and Cole and drifted back toward the main group, leaning over the back of the couch to tap Adaar on the shoulder. Something on his face must have communicated a degree of seriousness, because she immediately extricated herself from Bull and stood, all six foot plus of her unfolding to stretch toward the ceiling. He motioned toward a corner of the room, and she followed him there, her expression curious.

“Something the matter, Varric?” As always, he was struck by the resonance of her voice, deep and melodious, now blurred at the edges by relaxation and alcohol. He always found himself wondering how he’d describe it if he were to write about her.

He craned his neck up to look at her. “I guess I’m just a little stumped, and I need ideas. I’m trying to think of a Christmas present for Cassandra. I’ve been trying for months, and I can’t get anywhere with it—everything she’d want seems, well, a little dull. I just don’t know what I could get her that would be both something she would like and … well, me.”

Adaar gave him a long, measured look. “You think she doesn’t like you enough to like anything you might come up with.”

Muttering a curse, Varric shifted uncomfortably. “I need to get some less perceptive friends.”

She laughed low in her throat, and when he looked back up at her, her smile had taken on a wicked edge he wasn’t sure he liked. “Varric,” she said, clear and deliberate, as though she were making an announcement of great import, “I am about to make your day.”

Skeptical, he folded his arms over his chest. “Are you, now?”

“I am.” Her smile had broadened to a grin. “You know, Cassandra is an avid reader.”

“ _Books_? That’s your big reveal? That’s what _Solas_ suggested, Adaar.”

“No, you don’t understand. Do you know who her favorite author is?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll play along. No, I don’t know who her favorite author is.”

“It’s you.”

“Well, that’s very—” He ground to a halt, Adaar’s words finally registering. “I … wait. _Me_? As in, Cassandra reads my books?”

“Avidly. She’s a particular fan of _Swords and Shields_ , I believe.”

Varric snorted. “Now I know you’re fucking with me. There is no way in hell that Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast reads my romance novels. Those aren’t just trash, they’re _bad_ trash.”

“Is that why you stopped publishing them? She’s rather upset about that.”

He stared, at a rare loss for words. “So … what you’re saying …”

“Is that if you want to give Cassandra a present she will love, any manuscripts you have lying around would be an excellent place to start.”

Seeming to realize she wouldn’t be getting a response anytime soon, Adaar made her way back to the couches, shrieking with laughter as Bull swept her off her feet, expertly engineering her tumble back into his lap. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her shoulder and she gave him a look from under her lashes that was so intimate Varric suddenly felt like an intruder. He said some hasty goodbyes and before he knew it he was back outside, breath steaming in the cold.

He stopped by his room only long enough to grab his laptop. (And to check whether Sebastian needed rescuing. Judging by the state of his usually impeccable hair, he didn’t.) Grabbing a coffee at the Student Center, Varric was vaguely aware that the caffeine at this time of night was a commitment. _I’m really doing this_ , he thought, somewhat bemused at his own willingness to return to a document that, according to his computer, hadn’t been touched since 2011. It trailed off right in the middle of a steamy encounter he’d never been able to bring himself to finish. Imagining Cassandra reading this stuff was odd, but also weirdly gratifying. He wasn’t a great romance writer, but he’d always been good at sex scenes. Now, there was a thought. _I wonder if she’s ever_ —

No. He shook his head to clear it. Time to focus on this mess. Taking a long draught of coffee, he set his fingers on the keyboard and started typing.

~~~

When he put a period on the final sentence, he was almost surprised to look up and see the sky outside the window washed with pale pink. It wasn’t necessarily what he’d consider his best work, but it had gone quickly, and the more he thought about giving it to Cassandra, the more he was amused by the prospect. He even took a few minutes to draft a cover in Photoshop, as schmaltzy as he could make it. The Student Center printer managed not to fuck it up (a Christmas miracle), and he grabbed the ream of paper, swung by his dorm to pick up the other gifts, and headed back to Leliana and Josie’s house, where, he now recalled, they had planned to have their Christmas morning breakfast and presents extravaganza.

The house was even more packed than it had been when he left it, last night’s crew now joined by Cassandra, Sera, Blackwall, Hawke, Sebastian, Garrett and Anders (holding hands, a habit of theirs so saccharine Varric was sometimes tempted to pry them apart with a crowbar), Fenris and Isabela (not holding hands, but he was pretty sure Isabela had hers on Fenris’ ass), Carver, blushing at Merrill as usual, Bethany, and Aveline, who had dragged along a very sleepy-looking Donnic. Looking at all those assembled, he felt a comfortable warmth settle in his chest.

The gift-giving was raucous and chaotic, infused with a relentless cheer that felt almost like some sort of magical compulsion—he was reminded of tales of travelers stumbling across fey celebrations and finding that once they began dancing they couldn’t stop. Used to the rhythms of the group, it was a simple matter for Varric to engineer matters so the giving of the last gift fell to him (if he was going to do this, he would at least do it in style). As he handed Cassandra the package, hastily wrapped, he saw Adaar flash him a knowing smile.

Opening the accompanying note, Cassandra squinted at his (admittedly messy) handwriting, slowly reading it aloud. “Seeker, it’s not edited, but it’s the best I could do on short notice. Let me know if you’d like it autographed.” She gave him a questioning look and he shrugged, his face the picture of innocence.

The seconds it took her to tear off the wrapping paper felt like hours. He thought he saw realization begin to dawn on her face when she saw that it was a thick stack of paper, but it wasn’t until she revealed the lurid cover that her head snapped up, eyes wide. She looked over at Adaar, her expression hovering somewhere between wary and murderous.

“This is your doing?”

Adaar inclined her head. “I was hoping you’d be happy about it.”

There was a moment of heavy silence, and then Varric spoke up, voice mock-serious. “If you don’t want it I’ll take it back. It’s just a first draft anyway. I’m still not sure about the resolution to last book’s cliffhanger. What happens to the knight-commander seems—”

Cassandra gasped, her last vestige of composure slipping away. “Nothing should happen! She was falsely accused!”

“Well, it turns out the guardsman—”

“Wait! Don’t tell me!” There was a harsh urgency in her voice, and he smiled to himself. Maybe this series wasn’t so bad after all.

She looked down at the manuscript in her hands, turning over the cover to reveal the dedication page. She didn’t read it aloud, but he knew what was written there: _For a fan_. A hot blush spread across her face and down her neck as she turned to look at him, clearly searching for words.

“I … well … thank you, Varric.”

And he looked at her—practical, no-nonsense, grounded Cassandra, suddenly pink-cheeked and tongue-tied—and something small but crucial shifted in him, like a puzzle piece falling into place.

 _Oh_.


End file.
